


but the stars don’t shine as bright as you

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 04, Smut, a radio-worked fic, which obv means radio sex, with some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: Conversation peters out, as it often does with them, and they sit together in a familiar and comfortable silence. It’s what they do a lot these days, his thumb staying pressed down on the com button of the radio and hers doing the same on her end, minutes going by with just the sound of their breathing passing through the radio to each other.They’ve spent nights just like this before, barely a few words passing between them, and sometimes that’s all there is, and they’ll eventually fall asleep like that, to this odd state of being both together and apart.But Clarke does eventually speak up again, and that’s not much of a surprise either.“Are you alone?” She asks, and he knows it’s one of those nights.“Yeah, Clarke,” he says. “I’m alone.”A post-season 4 radio-worked AU.





	but the stars don’t shine as bright as you

**Author's Note:**

> This was an on odd fic to write. It took me basically forever, but the first half took months and the last half took a weekend. Life of writing I guess???? Also, I realised canon is not my strong suit and will thus probably never venture into it further than maybe a quick drabble here and there. Double also, smut where they can’t touch or even _see_ each other was difficult to write for me. I guess challenges are good in writing or whatever but I’m just glad to be posting this finally.
> 
> Triple also, Madi has yet to rock up in this fic, so do not be alarmed by the smut.
> 
> Finally, shout out to my best friend who has had to hear me complain about this fic for literally months on end. She is so encouraging and I probably would've given up without her so jas ily.
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy, and if you’re interested in a pic edit to go with this fic it’s [here](http://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/164274196855/but-the-stars-dont-shine-as-bright-as-you-7k).

The radio crackles to life just as he pushes the door open and steps into his room, a second of static before her voice comes through.

“Bellamy?”

It’s a familiar enough situation to find himself in these days, Earth coming into view from the bedroom window right as she calls in from somewhere down there, and he can’t help but smile at the fact. Hundreds of miles and the expanse of space between them, and she’s still somehow got perfect timing.

He pulls the radio from where it’s clipped to his pants, brings it to his mouth with a small smile.

“Hey, princess,” he says, the nickname coming easily to him now. It’s funny how it happened, after going so long without calling her that, but he can’t say he minds. It’s inherently different from how he used it when they first landed, and he might’ve worried that Clarke didn’t like it, but he remembers how her voice sounds around a smile, and that’s how she sounds when he calls her that these days.

In this kind of exchange, at least.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and yeah — it’s definitely a smile in her voice. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the door. It’s the end of the day — if that really means much, up here — which is when Clarke likes to radio in most; privacy is something that’s become increasingly important for them in the past few months. “Today was a maintenance day,” he continues, toeing off his shoes and finding his way to the bed. “So I was checking the ship with Monty. Nothing out of the ordinary. What about you?”

Clarke hums, and Bellamy stretches out on the bed, one hand coming to rest behind his head while the other keeps the radio close.

“Kind of similar day,” she says. “Went out and checked the traps, foraged some food. Did some drawing for a while. Not much to do in the apocalypse,” she adds, the tired strain in her voice something that’s becoming increasingly familiar. His eyes fall shut on their own accord. “Anyway,” she says, after clearing her throat quietly, her voice thankfully a little stronger as she continues. “I might make the drive back to the bunker for some more supplies. That’ll keep me busy for a week or so.”

“That’s a good idea. You can see what’s grown further out in the last few weeks.”

“Probably nothing,” Clarke says, but she’s smiling again; he can hear it. “The outskirts of my spot of green are slow-growing. Almost like that’s why I don’t live there.”

“Almost,” Bellamy agrees, rolling his eyes. Raven was able to direct her to the best location to set herself up once they were able to communicate, part of the 4% of Earth that didn’t get completely destroyed in the death wave of radiation. And it’s good apparently, too, apart from being a few days’ drive from the bunker. Which, come to think of it, is probably a good thing now as well. Keeps her a little busier than she would be without it. “Smart ass,” he adds after another beat, getting a laugh from her.

“Coming from you,” she says.

“Hm, we’re both smart asses,” he decides, feeling a smile grow when Clarke laughs again, that soft chuckle of hers. Fuck he wishes he could hear it in person. “Maybe that’s why we get along.”

“Yeah,” she says, the word soft and surprisingly sincere. A weight to it that Bellamy feels settle between them. “Maybe.”

Conversation peters out, as it often does with them, and they sit together in a familiar and comfortable silence. It’s what they do a lot these days, his thumb staying pressed down on the com button of the radio and hers doing the same on her end, minutes going by with just the sound of their breathing passing through the radio to each other.

They’ve spent nights just like this before, barely a few words passing between them, and sometimes that’s all there is, and they’ll eventually fall asleep like that, to this odd state of being both together and apart. 

But Clarke does eventually speak up again, and that’s not much of a surprise either.

“Are you alone?” She asks, and he knows it’s one of those nights.

“Yeah, Clarke,” he says. “I’m alone.”

“Good,” she tells him, and after a long beat that has Bellamy’s heart beginning to hammer a little bit, “I’m lying on the hood of the rover,” she says, her voice just a fraction lower than before, but an easily identifiable shift to him now, after all these weeks of doing this. “I parked it out in this small clearing right by a stream, so I could fall asleep to the stars.”

“Yeah?” He prompts, even though he already knows. She told him a few weeks back, that sleeping outside felt better. _I’m closer to you that way,_ she had said, and it was like a punch to the gut, because he’d do that too, watch Earth from space and pick out her patch of green. A sweet kind of torture, but he always was a bit of a masochist. 

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s easier, now that it’s getting warmer. And I kind of—” He hears the brief hesitation in her voice, but she still manages to sound sure when she continues. “I kind of like doing this outside. Even though I know nobody can see me, it’s pretty hot — being naked out in the open. Talking to you and touching myself.”

Bellamy chokes, and Clarke’s responding laugh is soft and pleased, maybe even a little relieved. It’s not like this part of their relationship is exactly new, but she usually doesn’t mention it so boldly. And honestly, most of the time Bellamy can’t really believe it’s happening at all, for all they’ve been doing it going on four months now.

The first time it happened, it was the first anniversary of the death wave, and Clarke asked.

It had been a fucking awful day, one that dragged on too long, made old wounds feel raw and an unsettling heaviness weigh down on his chest, and Bellamy knew as soon as Clarke radioed in that it had been no better for her.

_A year,_ she had said, the waver in her voice — a combination of exhaustion and tears — making his heart fucking ache. _A whole fucking year._

She’d told him about it before, how the isolation got to her, was easier to deal with on some days and harder on others, but it was worse that night; the grief of separation was palpable between them, and when Bellamy finally let himself admit to her that he missed her, wished he was still with her, Clarke cried to him for the first time during their whole year apart. Her tears turned to pleading before he even really knew what happened.

But she was alone, and she needed someone, and when she asked Bellamy to be that person, fuck — he couldn’t say no. 

There’s no way he could’ve said no.

So he helped her forget, talked her to a state where she couldn’t think about anything except for how good she felt, fingers curled into her pussy, hitting that sweet spot inside of her over and over again, thumb pressed to her clit and making her feel like magic, and he learnt how she sounded as she took herself higher with his words, the way her breath hitched, the way she cried out when the orgasm crashed over her.

_Bell!_

She didn’t radio back in for close to two weeks after, and when she finally did, she acted like nothing had happened.

And it was — it was fine. Bellamy could live with that. He got Clarke for a glimpse of a moment when she was upset and needed someone, and he wouldn’t hold the moment of desperation against her, wouldn’t try to push for more. He wanted, but he’d always been good at burying his own desires, ignoring the way his feelings felt like they were carving out a hole in his chest. It was fine.

But two weeks later it happened again, and another time a week after that, and he can now expect a call like this from Clarke a couple times a week. 

Because she’s alone, and she’ll continue to be alone for another three years and eight months, and sometimes she just needs someone to make her feel like she’s not going out of her mind. 

There’s no universe he wouldn’t offer to be that person.

Now, he curses quietly, feeling the familiar flicker of heat on his skin with her words. “Fuck,” he says, voice going rough as an image begins to stir in his mind. Of her, bare and sprawled out, on top of _his_ rover. “That’s so hot, Clarke.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and his laugh feels a little desperate this time.

“Definitely,” he assures her, a hand scrubbing over his face in an attempt to keep his mind on track. It’s easy to get lost in it, thinking about her. “Now, you wanna tell me what you’re wearing, babe?”

“Just jeans and a top right now,” she tells him, and Bellamy nods. It’s a pretty standard outfit, one he’s worked with a lot.

“And do you wanna start touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breaths out, a hint of desperation beginning to seep into her words. “Please, Bellamy. I haven’t — I wanted to wait. For you. I haven’t touched myself at all yet.”

“Shit, princess,” Bellamy says, cock twitching when a small, pleased noise sounds through the radio, a familiar response to the pet name; she really does like it when he calls her that. “You haven’t?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay, okay,” Bellamy breathes out, letting the small thrill the confession brings settle. He loves it when she waits for him. “That’s so sweet of you, princess. I bet you’re already wound up, hm? So why don’t you get your hands on yourself for me? That sound good?”

“Yeah, Bell,” Clarke says, and it’s only a moment later when her soft and shaky sigh comes through, what Bellamy can only imagine is a combination of relief and anticipation. “I’m just letting my hands run under my top,” she tells him next, voice going breathy, and Bellamy closes his eyes, tries to picture it himself. “Up my stomach and to my chest. My nipples are already getting hard under my bra, and my skin — it’s already so tingly and excited. Fuck, Bell, I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Fuck,” Bellamy curses, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He lets his hand drop to it, gives himself a stroke as he listens to her. “‘Course you have, princess,” he says. She usually takes longer to work herself up, so it makes sense she’s been waiting. “You can go ahead and take your top off now, baby. Your bra, too.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, soft and excited, and he hears the ruffle of movement on her end as she presumably pulls off her top and unclasps her bra, before a much sweeter sound comes through, a nice little whimper that tells him she’s finally got her hands on herself properly. “Feels so good, Bell,” she says after a lingering beat. “I’m just feeling myself up, mm, imagining it’s your hands on me instead of mine. Mine are too small for my tits, but yours — fuck, they’re so big, Bellamy, and _rough_. They’d be perfect. I wish you were with me.”

Bellamy groans, giving himself a final stroke over his pants before he flicks open the button and tugs them down and off. His cock is half-hard in his briefs, will soon be in need of some proper attention, but he doesn’t pull it out just yet; he prefers getting Clarke taken care of first.

“God, me too, babe,” he says, eyes falling shut as he tries to picture it, being with her, what her bare chest would look like in his hands, tits soft and round and perfect, nipples pulled tight and flushed a pretty pink. “I bet they still feel pretty perfect in your hands, though. You’ve always had gorgeous tits.”

Clarke laughs, something breathless and desperate in it, and Bellamy can’t help a small, private smile. He told her a few weeks back that he always thought she had fantastic breasts, one of those subconscious things he didn’t let himself truly recognise until they started doing this, and it wasn’t long before her teasing shifted into something heavier, and the evening was drawn into a fantasy that revolved entirely around her tits.

The memory sends a rush of hot need down his spine, cock getting harder in his briefs, but his resolve doesn’t waver; he still wants to get her there first. If she’s been waiting all day for this, she probably needs to take the edge off before he draws things out too long.

“You ready for more, princess?” He asks.

“ _Please_ ,” Clarke says, voice already wavering with a need that sets Bellamy’s heart hammering.

“Of course, baby,” he says. “You wanna take off your pants for me? Start playing with your pussy?”

“Fuck,” Clarke mutters, and he huffs out a husk of a laugh as he listens to her strip down further, until she’s in nothing but her underwear. Fuck she must look beautiful. “Okay, I’m — I’m undressed, just — fuck, just sitting back on the car.”

“Mm, bet you look gorgeous on display like that,” he says, rewarded when she releases a shaky breath. Her enjoyment of being exposed during their calls is definitely something he can work with, both with the images the confession brings to his mind, and the possibility of using it to help get her off. “Now you wanna get your fingers on your clit, princess? Just your clit for the first one, okay?”

“First one?” Clarke asks, sounding like she’s going for teasing, but her words mostly come out breathless. Bellamy chuckles.

“First one,” he agrees. “I think you need a few.”

“I _do,_ ” Clarke says, and Bellamy’s breath of laughter catches in his throat when she whines, voice hitching in that familiar way of hers, that happens every time she touches her cunt for the first time during one of their calls. “Fuck, Bellamy, I’m already so _wet_ ,” she tells him. “I can’t wait to fuck myself, but for now—” She cuts herself off with a whimper, and Bellamy sucks in a short breath. “Fuck,” she says again, “For now, my clit is _perfect._ ”

“Fuck,” Bellamy curses. “I bet it is, babe. Now come whenever you want, okay? Just to take the edge off.”

“What about you?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine, princess,” Bellamy chuckles, slowing the strokes he’s giving his cock over his briefs to make sure the statement holds. “We’ve got time, and you know I love to hear you come undone.”

“Mm, you really do,” Clarke agrees, breathy and a little giddy. He wonders how she can still sound almost surprised at the fact that he loves listening to her get off, when his words are nothing but praise and encouragement during their calls. Maybe it’s that same feeling he gets every time they do this, something close to awe that makes his chest feel so _full_ , that this is happening at all, that he gets to have Clarke in this way. “But I wanna take care of you later, okay?” she adds, and that feeling surges. “So don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

Bellamy’s laugh feels somewhat desperate, and he throws his arm over his eyes to give himself a moment. “I’ll be sure not to,” he promises, and before she can distract him any further, “How’re you feeling?”

“Just working myself up,” Clarke says, voice hitching slightly again. “But I can already feel myself getting close. It — _ah_ , it never takes long with my clit. Not the first one, when I’ve been waiting. _Fuck, Bellamy._ ”

“Keep going, baby,” Bellamy says, heat beginning to thrum beneath his skin as he hears her get closer. He really does love listening to her come undone. She always gets this quality to her voice when she’s getting herself off, a wavering kind of desperation, and it makes him lose his mind a little, with how good it sounds. And that’s nothing to say of the sounds she makes, the shaky sighs and the small whimpers that go straight to his cock, as if urging him to just let go and pump himself until he’s coming right there with her. He manages not to, but it takes more effort than he wishes it did. “You sound so good, baby,” he murmurs instead, hoping his focus on her will distract himself from the need prickling at his skin. “Still playing with your gorgeous tits?”

It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does she sounds pretty gone, close enough her mind is probably beginning to unravel. “I got — distracted,” she says, breathy, before letting a small moan slip. “Fuck, Bellamy, I’m so clo-ose.”

“God, baby, I can tell,” Bellamy says, voice rough as her words play in his mind. “How ‘bout you get a hand back on your tits? You said you always feel that at your clit, hm?”

She makes a sound of agreement, and he can hear the moment she must get a hand back on herself, maybe starting with a soft caress before the flicks of her thumb pull her nipples into hard peaks. She’s told him before that that always send a jolt of something incredibly straight to her pussy, and he hopes it’s what helps her over the edge.

“Fuck, that feels _perfect,_ ” she tells him, almost strangled, and Bellamy brings the radio closer, needing to hear her as clearly as he possibly can.

It doesn’t take much longer, only a minute until she goes incoherent, babbling out nonsense that has Bellamy’s cock jerking slightly in his hold, and another after that before she breaks, crying out as the rush of pleasure overcomes her.

Bellamy talks her through it, and then down from the high, in a way that’s become all too familiar now. It’s probably one of the things he finds most difficult about this arrangement, not being there to offer physical comfort when she’s in her slightly vulnerable and disoriented state post-orgasm, but he’s found that his voice works well for her.

And it’s not like Clarke doesn’t get herself off plenty without him, because he knows she does — she tells him when her impatience gets the better of her — but it just makes Bellamy feel better, being there in any way he can.

“How do you feel?” He asks, once her breathing slows and evens out.

“Good,” Clarke responds, sounding dazed but happy, and Bellamy can’t help but chuckle.

“Good?”

“ _Great,_ ” she says instead, and he feels himself smile. “I definitely needed to take the edge off.”

“Mm, I’m glad you did. God, you sound fucking perfect like that, Clarke.”

She laughs, still breathy. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” she says, and it’s teasing, but after a beat she turns softer, a little more serious. “I know you like taking care of me first, Bellamy, but I don’t like getting too far ahead of you. I don’t — this is for both of us, yeah?”

She doesn’t sound unsure of herself, not really, but he gets what she means, knows that there’s sometimes a small inkling of doubt that plays in her mind, one that he has to put to rest for her.

The first time he got off with her, it was a result of something of a breakdown on Clarke’s behalf. Not nearly as bad as the night that started everything, but still not great, nothing he wants to repeat. It was about two months into the new development of their relationship, when they were lying together in the quiet that came after she’d gotten enough release.

_I’m sorry,_ she had said, breaking the easy afterglow he thought they were sharing, sounding fucking _upset,_ and he had no idea what she was apologising for until she said, _For making you do this. I’m sorry._

It was one of the most bewildering things she’d probably ever said to him, and before he could even respond, Clarke continued, telling him how she knew she was asking so much of him, that she knew he didn’t really want to be doing this, that she was going to try to stop needing him in this way.

By the time she finished, he could hear the tears in her voice, the exhaustion, and all he could do was choke out a strangled _Clarke, no._

It had been odd, when wordless communication was something he always thought they were good at, to feel like they were on two completely different frequencies. Him, not wanting to be selfish, not wanting to take advantage of her vulnerability by asking for more, even when the sound of her coming apart was slowly making him lose his mind, and her, seeking out a form of intimacy she didn’t feel she could get from anyone else, and worrying that it was slowly ruining their relationship.

Thankfully, once the words had been said, it didn’t take long for everything to be cleared up, and when Clarke tentatively asked if she could possibly return the many favours he’d given her, he had said yes in a heartbeat.

He never managed to not get hard when listening to her, despite the guilt that prickled uncomfortably at his skin for it, but it was always something he ignored during their calls, taking care of only once he was truly by himself; fisting his cock and pumping it quick and hard, images of blonde hair and soft skin and perfect breasts flashing through his mind until he came into his hand, groaning her name roughly as his chest heaved for air.

But that night, for the first time, he didn’t need to wait. He let himself stroke his cock to the sound of her voice, to the fantasy she described for him, of her hands touching him all over, feeling the dips and rise of his muscles, the warmth of his skin, before following the path of her hands with her mouth. Teasing him, and making him wait, just like he had so often described to her, before finally taking him in her mouth, exploring his cock with her tongue, turning him into a fucking mess with slow licks and deep sucks.

It hadn’t taken long for him to come, her name falling from his lips as his cock swelled and the pleasure of release flooded him, and Bellamy was surprised to find that it wasn’t awkward at all, after, that he couldn’t find it within himself to be embarrassed, not when she had been so encouraging, had sounded so goddamn pleased to be the reason he felt so good.

_That was okay?_ Was the only thing she said, and Bellamy had laughed, relaxed and content, his chest somehow feeling both so light and so full, all at once.

_Fucking perfect, princess._

Now, he smiles, knows his voice will reassure her as much as his words. “It’s for both of us,” he says, and her sigh is half relief and half contentment. The afterglow of her orgasms always linger for a little while, and Bellamy loves that.

“Good,” she says, soft. “Besides, you’re not the only one that loves to listen. Getting off when I can hear you doing the same is my favourite way to do this. It makes me feel so much closer to you.”

It’s not news, but the words still have his heart thrumming a hard and fast beat in his chest. He wonders whether Clarke realises the effect she has him, when she says things like that, alluding to more than just the release they give each other physically, but to the feelings bubbling beneath it; a desire to be close, to be together.

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling all of a sudden helpless to the wave of emotion they usually try to block out during their calls. “Me too, Clarke,” he says. “Me too.”

“Then _come on,_ ” she urges, and his laugh feels more like a shaky release of breath, but her voice is back to the familiar huskiness that belies her need, and that always helps him focus. “You promised me a few, Bell,” she reminds, and this laugh is stronger.

“That’s true,” he allows, closing his eyes with a small smile. He takes another breath, and his voice is deeper when he continues, just how she likes it. “You still feeling a little wound up?”

“I’m starting to, again,” she says. “Still nice and relaxed, but — fuck, I really wanna come again.”

It doesn’t surprise him, not with how many times Clarke has said those exact words to him, but it still makes Bellamy groan, rough. “Fuck, of course you do, babe,” he says, and she laughs, apparently pleased with his reaction. “Okay, princess, where’re your hands now?”

“One’s just resting on my stomach,” she answers, a little husky. “And the other — I’m just letting my finger run along my chest, over my breasts and around my nipples, just teasing for now.”

“God, you must look gorgeous like that, princess,” he says, rewarded with a small pleased sound in response.

“What about you?” She asks, before he can prompt her any further. “Where’re your hands?”

He chuckles. She really isn’t going to let him distract her. “One’s still on the radio,” he tells her. “And I’m just rubbing myself over my briefs with the other,” he says, giving his cock another firm stroke.

“Are you hard?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy breathes out, a desperate laugh falling with her name. “I’ve been hard since you told me you started touching yourself.”

She hums, soft and low. “Then I better be quick,” she says. “You’re probably pretty wound up yourself.”

It’s definitely true, and it’s only really the combination of practice and sheer willpower that’s kept him from pulling out his cock, taking it in his hand and giving himself hard and fast strokes, letting the sound of her falling apart bring him to the same completion. Still, “Princess, I don’t wanna rush you,” he says.

“Bellamy, I don’t mind,” Clarke says, voice soft again. “We can do slow and drawn out another time. Today, I’m happy to go faster if it means I can be with you sooner. Please.”

His throat feels very dry, and Bellamy has to swallow twice before he can manage a response. “Okay,” he says finally. “If you wanna go quicker, you can get your hand back to your pussy then. No fucking yourself yet, I just want you to get your fingers wet, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, her voice already wavering again, hitching when she presumably does as he suggests, slipping her hand back down to her pussy. “And my — my other hand? How do you want me?”

“Just keep it on your tits, babe. Like you were doing when you came earlier.”

“Mm, okay,” she says again. “God, Bellamy, it feels so good, having my fingers at my cunt. Even without getting to fuck myself yet, I — ah. Fuck, it’s still so nice.”

“I’m glad, baby,” he says. “You can tease your clit a little too, okay? I just want you to work yourself up a little more before you get your fingers in your pussy.”

She lets out a whimper that tells him she’s following his prompting, and he imagines her fingers trailing up her slit, circling her clit to get herself nice and wet and desperate, before moving back down again. She’s detailed it out for him before, the way she builds everything up by teasing herself — being so close to what she wants but not letting herself get it, not until she’s absolutely desperate for it, for the feel of her fingers pressed into her cunt, stroking herself as the coil in her core winds tighter and tighter — and it’s easy to find the image, close his eyes and let it settle in his mind.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she tells him, a whine to her voice. “My clit’s a little sensitive, but — but still good, and fuck, I just _know_ how perfect it’ll be when I get my fingers in my cunt. I’m already fucking throbbing for it.”

“Shit, Clarke,” Bellamy chokes out, hips jerking into his hold, and she lets out a breathless laugh.

“Seriously, Bellamy,” she whines. “The only thing that would make it better is if it was going to be your fingers, instead of mine. Fuck, I wish it was,” she says, and Bellamy swears, her words sending licks of heat down his spine, straight to his cock, and it’s finally too much.

He repositions the clip that keeps the com button pressed down on the radio, allowing him both hands, and settles it by his pillow, before finally tugging down his briefs and pulling his cock free. He’s unsurprised to find it’s completely hard, with pre-cum gathered at the tip, and he takes it in his hand, gives himself a few lazy tugs, groaning at the sweet relief it brings, even when it fans the flames of his need, too.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he husks out, voice rough with the need that’s finally bubbled over the surface, and she sucks in a short breath.

“You finally touching yourself properly, Bell?” She asks, voice tinged with both excitement and lust, a combination that tugs at his mind desperately.

“Yeah, babe,” he answers. “You sounded so fucking good, I couldn’t help it.” She lets out a pleased little whine in response, and Bellamy feels himself smile, a fucked-out one as he flicks his thumb over the head of his cock, sending a lurch of pleasure through him. “Now you wanna get your underwear off, princess? Finally start fucking yourself properly?”

She makes a sort of strangled sound in response, and he once again hears the ruffle of movement over the radio, quick and impatient this time.

“Okay,” she breathes out, after another beat. “They’re off, and I’m just—” She cuts herself with a giggle, light and swimming with lust. “I’m settling in again now. Tell me when I can keep going.”

“Now,” he says instantly. “Don’t stop, princess, just keep going.”

“Okay,” she says again, and when she moans, low and drawn out, Bellamy feels himself get impossibly harder. “Bell,” she cries out next, “Oh, _fuck,_ Bellamy. The first feel of my fingers in my cunt, hitting that spot — it’s so fucking good. It’s not gonna take long, I can tell.”

“Yeah?” He asks, swallowing down the groan her words want to pull out of him. “What can I do to help, baby? Tell me what I can do.”

She whines, and when he flicks his thumb over the head of his cock again, he responds with a rough groan.

“Just — just your voice, Bell,” she responds after a brief pause. “Tell me what you’d do if I was with you.”

“Oh, Clarke, _everything_ ,” he says, before he can stop himself, the word encompassing what feels like a universe more than just what they’re doing right now. Clarke whimpers, and Bellamy throws his free arm over his eyes, tries not to think about it. “God, baby, first thing I’d do is kiss you. Fucking _everywhere_. Kiss you slow and deep, until you melted into me, until I could work you to the state you’re in with my own hands.”

“God, Bellamy, I swear I’ve had dreams of your lips,” she responds, and he sucks in a shaky breath, chest feeling so _heavy_ all of a sudden, even with the need still building, the desire thrumming in his veins.

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes._ What else would you do?”

“Princess, I think kissing you would take up a lot of my time,” he says, trying for teasing, but the joke doesn’t land in the way he probably wants. “I’d wanna take my time with that, mapping out every inch of your body with my hands and my mouth. God, I’d probably lose my mind at the sight of your breasts.” She laughs at that, but it sounds fucked-out. She really won’t last long this time round, either. “I’d stay there for a while, learn how you like to be touched there, probably leave a few marks on your skin if I got a little over-zealous.”

“Fuck, I’d love that,” Clarke breathes out.

“Yeah?” He asks, and she hums out a wavering affirmation. “Good. Then I’d make sure I left a few marks while I was doing that, stay until you were all worked up and desperate for more. Then I’d make my way down your body, kissing every part of you I could, until I finally settled between your legs. God, princess, I can only imagine how gorgeous you’d look spread out like that, pussy on display for me as I pressed your thighs apart. Would you like that? Being on display for me?”

“You know I would,” Clarke says, and Bellamy’s laugh is short and rough.

“Yeah, I know you would,” he agrees. “But God, then I’d get to taste you, princess. Kiss that gorgeous cunt of yours, tease you until you begged for my fingers. That’s when I’d finally fuck you with them, hm? Curl them just right, until I hit that spot that makes you see stars. You doing that, princess? Fucking yourself with your fingers?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And are you close?”

“I’m _so_ close, Bell,” she whines, broken, and he can hear it, hear the way the pressure is finally becoming too much, the way she’s so close to reaching her breaking point.

“You want another after this one?” He manages to ask, needs to know before she becomes too incoherent to tell him, needs to know whether he can chase his release now, or if he should wait another minute.

“I — I don’t know if I can,” Clarke admits, choking the words out, and she sounds so fucking _gone,_ but it’s not a no, and Bellamy always wants her coming as many times as she can.

“I think you can, princess,” he says. “Don’t let yourself come down too much after this one, okay, baby? Just keep going, and get your fingers back on your clit, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she breathes out, and Bellamy finally lets himself speed up again, hand moving around his cock hard and fast as he listens to her come undone, her words losing meaning, turning to moans and whimpers, the tightly wound coil finally snapping.

Clarke keens, and Bellamy doesn’t even know the words that pour from his mouth, praise and encouragement, begging her to keep going as he thrusts into his hand desperately. He recognises when her climax passes, feels a surge of pride when he hears Clarke chasing more release almost immediately, the promise of their coming together sending flickers of heat all over him.

“I’m gonna come again,” she pants out, after only another minute, sounding so good he could cry. “But Bell, _Bellamy,_ I need, _I need_ —”

“What do you need, Clarke?” He asks, desperate now. “Tell me.”

“ _You_ ,” she says, voice suddenly so _raw,_ and he feels his throat go tight

“I’m right here, princess,” he manages to say, rough. “Hm? Listen to my voice, I’m right here. Just keep going princess, you’re gonna feel so good.”

She cries out weakly, and words spill from Bellamy’s lips again, as he lets himself finally let go, lose himself in the need prickling at his skin, the desperation that has his strokes becoming firmer, quicker.

He feels his mind go blurry around the edges, nothing but his chase for release and the sound of Clarke trying to find her own. He wants nothing more to be with her, wishes so much he knew what she looked like. Not just the image of her sprawled out, bare and gorgeous as she fucks herself, but the details. How her face would be scrunched up in pleasure, lip caught between her teeth. The way her chest would be flushed a pretty pink, nipples pulled into hard peaks. How her thighs would be trembling, now that she’s just a breath away from coming, release thrumming just beneath the surface, ready to crash over her.

The fantasy fills his mind, of being with her, of kissing her, of thrusting up into her cunt and feeling it clench around him, feeling heavy and seductive as it ripples through him, and Bellamy knows he's done.

“Come for me, baby,” he finally grunts out, feeling himself lose any semblance of control as he lets the image of her fill his mind, hips jerking into his hand as he strokes his cock to completion, relentless now. “Come with me, Clarke.”

She does, and Bellamy feels her cry of his name all over. His mind begins to unravel, body begins to shake. His balls pull tight and his cock swells and the familiar sparks shoot down his spine, and then he’s spilling into his hand and stomach as the rush of release floods him, blissful pleasure rolling through him.

For a minute, it’s just the sound of blood rushing past his ears, the sound of his own breathing as he rides out the last of his orgasm, but Clarke fades back in soon enough, breathless pants to match his own, interjected with small whimpers Bellamy can only imagine are the aftershocks of her climax.

“You good?” He manages to ask, once he’s caught his breath and his mind is coherent enough to form words.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, breathy and soft, sated. “I’m perfect.”

Bellamy smiles. “Good,” he says, and when Clarke only hums in response, he lets the quiet settlebetween them, the afterglow wash over them, as they once again find themselves in that odd state of theirs. Together, in every way but physically.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes they’ll talk straight away, either with praise and good-natured teasing, or by moving onto something else entirely, whatever crosses their minds, and sometimes they’ll decide to keep going, feeling greedy for each other, a hunger in them that’s not yet satiated. But Bellamy enjoys the quiet between them, after. When he closes his eyes, the sound of Clarke’s breathing coming through the radio, his whole body feeling loose and relaxed, he can almost imagine that everything is okay. He can almost imagine that she’s with him; _really_ with him.

It’s a familiar fantasy, that she made it up with him, that he stayed on the ground with her, but it’s one he tries not to indulge himself in too much. It’s beyond cruel, that ten minutes on one single day has fated them to five years apart, but Earth had never been particularly kind to them anyway.

Still, he can’t help but let himself imagine it now. Rolling into her side and kissing her shoulder before getting out of bed and going to the shower to rinse the day off. Having her arms wrap around him from behind as she followed a minute later, body warm as it settled against him, lips soft as she pressed them right between his shoulder blades. 

_I swear I’ve had dreams of your lips,_ she had said, and it's a feeling Bellamy knows intimately.

The images play in his mind as he cleans himself up, and he can hear Clarke go about a similar routine on her end, the shuffle of movement, the splash of poured water, the quiet huffs of breath.

It takes a couple of minutes, but soon enough he’s back on his bed, stretched out and listening to Clarke as she finishes getting herself ready for the night. He can hear her finally climb back onto the hood of the rover, and when she lets out a small sigh of contentment, Bellamy lets himself bring the radio back to his mouth.

“Hey,” he says, and Clarke laughs, soft.

“Hey,” she says. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says, smile small as he lets his eyes fall shut. Most of the work up here isn’t hard, but he always feels exhausted at the end of the day, especially after this kind of night with Clarke. “How are you?”

“I’m good too,” Clarke echoes, giggling a moment later, the sound so light it makes Bellamy’s heart swell.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Nothing,” she insists, but she laughs again, soft. “I’m just — that was really perfect,” she says, in the end, and it’s a simple sentiment, maybe, but it feels fitting. Makes Bellamy’s chest fill with words he’s trying his best to contain. The “I miss you,” she adds after a beat helps, because it really is too cruel, too painful to tell her, when it doesn’t change anything.

_I love you_ , he thinks, and “I miss you too,” he says, and the moment shifts into something heavier. Not bad, not taking back everything they’ve just given each other, just letting the reality of their lives and their situation once again settle between them. He hears her shaky release of breath, and Bellamy takes a deep one of his own, makes himself say what he always does, at the end of their calls. “How many days?” He asks.

“Four hundred and ninety two,” Clarke tells him, and Bellamy reaches to the side to find the leather-bound notebook he keeps on the small table beside his bed. He opens it up to the right page and adds a notch to the row he’s working on.

“One thousand, three hundred and thirty five to go,” he answers, smile small. Wistful. He puts the notebook back in its place before lying back on the bed, getting hold of the radio and bringing it close. He can already feel his eyes getting heavy, his limbs loose and sinking further into the mattress.

“That’s nothing,” Clarke teases, and her voice is fading too, going soft with sleep. “As long as you’re not late, I think we’ll be alright.”

Bellamy hums, his mind beginning to drift. “Yeah, princess,” he says, and it feels like an easy promise to make. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope u enjoyed. Commenting/kudos are good ways to let me know.
> 
> Also, I did consider that other people can probably get on the same frequency of their radio calls and listen to their weird phone sex or w/e, but I decided I didn’t care.
> 
> Again, if you want a visual, [here’s a pic edit!](http://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/164274196855/but-the-stars-dont-shine-as-bright-as-you-7k)


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